


Quality Time

by Omi_Lightbearer



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Best Friends, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Feelings, Friendship, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Post-Grand Prix Final, abandoned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9962810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omi_Lightbearer/pseuds/Omi_Lightbearer
Summary: [Please note I will probably not be updating this fic] Now that Yuri Plisetsky has let him into his world, Otabek's life will never be the same. Throw in Yuri's crush on someone else, music, raging hormones and motorbike rides. Set during and after the Grand Prix final in Barcelona.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ishida_Rio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishida_Rio/gifts).



CHAPTER 1

There was a side to Yuri Plisetsky that not everyone was fortunate enough to see. In fact, even journalists took a gamble whenever they approached the teenage star of the figure skating universe. He might force a smile and answer in a neutral voice, or else claw at them with a string of verbal abuse. The fifteen-year-old was mercurial, unpredictable.

He didn’t show those claws to Otabek Altin, who had fallen within Yuri’s gravitational field without being shot down. As luck would have it, Yuri seemed to like him. He had lowered his defenses a notch. The two had a lot in common. They shared the loneliness of the self-made hero after too many hours spent fighting, of the little boy whose childhood was haphazardly built around one or two people that he could barely spend any quality time with due to the constant travelling and training. Like a swan carved out of ice, Yuri kept his distance from others, but had welcomed Otabek’s incursion into his life. The Kazakh was fascinated by the fact that the warmest, kindest side of Yuri Plisetsky revealed itself to him. Otabek had always pictured himself as a solitary soldier made of wrought iron, with eyes set on only one goal. This meant that he lacked the word to describe the warmth that flooded his chest when they talked or simply hung out in comfortable silence. Maybe that was exactly it, for lack of a better term. _Warmth_.

On the day of the Grand Prix Final free programme, he had time to think. What if emotion and warmth could become fuel for the fight? Not a weakness, but strength. Inexperienced as he was when dealing with feelings, it became apparent to him that they lay at the core of the Japanese Yuuri Katsuki’s performance, a white and blue flame that burnt brightly and drove him towards perfection before the awestruck audience. There was also something about _his_ Yuri that was different from what Otabek had seen in him many years before, during that ballet lesson he had been unable to forget. Emotion was drawn all over Yuri’s face. Otabek held his breath throughout the free programme, which was wild, beautiful, impossible, demanding and complex enough to break anyone other that Yuri. His knuckles went white as he clutched at the handrail. He couldn’t bear the thought of being 2,000 miles away from the preternatural being who had turned his life upside down.

‘What did you think?’ he heard a voice ask, startling him.  
Otabek searched for an automatic answer as he turned around to face Yuri. His eyes were sparkling like gems and he was flushed from exertion. The Kazakh breathed out slowly.  
‘That was bravely fought.’ His lips curved into one of his rare smiles when he saw Yuri basking in the attention.  

The disappointment he felt after narrowly missing a medal was attenuated by the sight of his ever-evolving monster of a friend, as the media loved to call him, with the gold around his neck. He was beaming on the podium, head held high despite the redness in his eyes –he had cried his heart out at some point. Later on, he was surrounded by a swarm of reporters, rinkmates, acquaintances, sponsors, all of which wanted a closer look, a piece of Yuri. It didn’t take long for the tiger inside to show his dangerous claws, tired and emotionally exhausted as the teenager felt. Otabek went to the rescue once more.  
‘Aren’t you hungry?’  
Yuri stopped glaring at an annoying news reporter and gave Otabek a lopsided smile when he saw through his cool demeanour.  
‘I’m starving. I want more of that fried fish.’  
Just like that, they sneaked off and back to the hotel to shower and change. An hour later, Otabek was driving his rental motorbike along the streets of Barcelona, with Yuri’s arm tight around his waist. _I’ve abducted the fairy again_ , he told himself. The idea made him feel guilty but oddly satisfied. They got far enough from the hotel area and ended up sitting at a little restaurant serving Spanish food that had more than decent ratings on Trip Advisor. Although dressed in a black leather and leopard print jacket instead of his ethereal costume, Yuri was still glowing. He was so feline that he didn’t need the cat ears his fans were intent on putting on his head. Otabek smiled again at the sight of him devouring a small, crispy fish that looked like a shrunken sardine. _Boquerones_ , the waiter called them. Yuri paused before reaching for another, and his eyes narrowed all of a sudden, as if an unexpected thought had crossed his mind.       

‘What is it?’  
Yuri sipped his soda before answering.  
‘I think I did it. I prevented the pig from retiring.’  
‘Katsuki?’ asked Otabek. He was only a little surprised. He was aware of Yuri’s complicated relationship with Nikiforov and his Japanese protegé, although he did not understand it completely.  
‘I snatched gold from him. He won’t stop trying now. Not that I’ll _ever_ let him win.’ Yuri smiled wickedly. ‘I’m gonna give him a rough time.’  
‘You care about him.’ The words slipped past Otabek’s lips. He said it so casually that it could have been a comment about the weather, but he didn’t feel half as cool inside. Yuri opened his eyes wide and frowned dramatically.  
‘No way!’ he replied, and sulked a little, which made it sound less convincing. ‘I don’t care. I like the fact that he’s not quitting and he’s somehow got Victor to return. That way I can beat them both next time.’  
‘Don’t count me out yet.’ Otabek said it without thinking, as some lingering bitterness that he identified as jealousy got out of hand. It wasn’t an emotion he often felt.  
‘I’m not. I want to see you kick JJ’s ass real soon. The bastard deserves it.’ Yuri’s cheeks were tinged with red even as he grinned.  
‘I will.’Otabek smiled back, and the knot in his stomach seemed to loosen a little. Yuri was right here with him. With him, and not his godparents of sorts.  
‘Aren’t you upset about it? Defeat.’ There was no malice in Yuri’s question, only naive curiosity.  
‘Defeat is a mindset. I may not have achieved what I fought for today but I can’t feel defeated after watching you all. I will fight on.’  
The Christmas lights that came on outside caught Yuri’s eye and he stared at them wistfully through the restaurant window.  
‘At least you don’t have to fight against your body. You’re past all that.’  
Otabek knew how much it worried Yuri. Growing up, changing, having some of his balance and flexibility taken from him. Losing control over his own limbs.  
‘All figure skaters go through it, and you are tougher than most. You will become really—’ He didn’t finish the sentence because doing so would bring nothing good.  
Yuri stopped chewing a slice of bread and replied with a full mouth.  
‘Really what?’  
‘Strong,’ he replied. _Beautiful_ , he thought.     
There was spark of disappointment in those blue eyes, as if Yuri had expected to hear something else. Otabek’s heartbeat sped up, and he might have fixed his mistake if the waiter had not come bearing their second drink order.  
  
After dinner they took a stroll along the seaside, chatting about the next day’s exhibition gala.  
‘What kind of music do you have? Mine is a metal song. I’ve had enough of the classical crap.’ Yuri stuck out his tongue in disgust.  
‘One of my favourite folk songs. It tells the story of Koblandy, a warrior who would win against a hundred and forty men using one arm only. It’s actually a version of this song by a famous rock singer.’  
‘Sounds good. I didn’t think you’d skate to Justin Bieber.’ Yuri’s laughter rekindled the warmth that coursed through his body like blood, stretching from his chest to his fingertips.  
‘I’d only use a Bieber song to tear it apart and make it better. I don’t think I’ve told you I DJ sometimes.’  
‘You do?’ Yuri apparently loved the idea and was looking at Otabek like he had just leveled up in his mind.      
‘Here.’ He held his phone in his hand, plugged in his headphones and gave one to Yuri, so that they had to be shoulder to shoulder to listen at the same time. He played some of his favourite mixes and they walked in a companionable silence. The sea glinted a dark teal under the stars, and the breeze was cool but not too cold, winter a much gentler version of the same season in the north. There was no place he’d rather be.  
    
It was pretty late when Yuri yawned and teared up a little at the same time.  
‘Let’s head back. I can’t believe you’re still standing after such a long day.’  
‘I’m fine,’ Yuri replied. He could barely keep his eyes open. ‘I’ve had worse training days.’  
The teenager clung to Otabek’s arm drowsily and the Kazakh all but towed him back to the motorbike and made sure he had a good grip on him all the way back.

A short time later, he left Yuri at the door of his hotel room and confronted his Russian coach bravely to let him know that Yuri was safe and sound. The man humphed and shot him a questioning glance.  
‘Altin. Yuri is the future of Russian figure skating.’  
He didn’t explain, leaving Otabek to connect the dots, which he promptly did. _He is the future of Russian figure skating and you shouldn’t be driving him around on a motorbike because it’s dangerous._ Or maybe, _he’s the future of Russian figure skating and he has no time to waste on you.  
_ ‘He is the present,’ said Otabek, and bid Yakov good night politely before returning to his single room.

Once in bed, Otabek stared at the ceiling and the specks that the street lights filtering through half-drawn blinds cast on it. The whirlpool of emotions that he’d been through during the day started to unwind and that allowed him to focus on and attempt to tag each one. Losing _did_ ache. Of course it did. But he had skated to the best of his ability and didn’t know how to do it better. He would still grit his teeth and train harder, look forward, move on. As long as he had any energy left whatsoever, he would.

He thought of Yuri and how he could never hate the teenager, not even if he turned out to win gold in every competition. How magnificent he had looked, a blonde demigod that danced on, practically hovering, soaring over the ice; a preternatural, heart-achingly beautiful being. His eyes had filled with emotion, fire, tears, victory. And yet Otabek was hanging out with the other Yuri, the Yuri who was fifteen years old and had a long, hard, exciting path ahead of him in an unforgiving world.

Otabek shut his eyes tight and asked for strength. _And time_ , a voice added in his head. At the end of the day, even of a day such as the Grand Prix Final, Yuri Plisetsky was all he could think about as he drifted off to sleep.


End file.
